


Little Picasso

by GeniusCactus



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Crack, M/M, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 02:35:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeniusCactus/pseuds/GeniusCactus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sanada helps Yukimura with an unconventional art project</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Picasso

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Art Class](https://archiveofourown.org/works/291331) by [Ver (verloren1983)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verloren1983/pseuds/Ver). 



> Very lightly inspired by ^ this piece. Be careful, it's explicit.

Yukimura is kneeling over barefoot, donning his trusty art smock, while laying out a human sized sheet of white parchment paper on the kitchen tile. Mini buckets of what seem to be fingerpaints semicircle around him, although Sanada isn’t too sure as he has never partaken in such an activity.

“Seiichi, what’s the meaning of all this?” Sanada storms over, not happy about seeing their home becoming a makeshift art studio.

“Preparations for my art project, and I could _really_ use your help, Genichirou,” Yukimura replies in the tone that melts Sanada’s heart to a pile of putty and makes him say yes to nearly everything.

“Of course, Seiichi,” Sanada answers, setting his cap down on the kitchen island, safely away from all the paint, and sitting in front of Yukimura in seiza.

“Now, remove all your clothes, so I can paint my masterpiece all over you,” Yukimura instructs calmly as if he were asking Sanada to buy milk and eggs at the store.

“Tarundoru!” They’re straight-laced people. They never eat dinner after 7, never go to bed after 12am, and most certainly never mix sexy times and school projects.

“Ah, well, I figured you’d say that,” Yukimura heaves a dramatic sigh, tossing Sanada his painter’s apron, “I’ll do it then.”

“Pfft.” Sanada laughs as he watches Yukimura unbutton his mustard yellow shirt, “No way in hell.”

“Okay, I can always ask somebody else. But, is that what _you_ want Genichirou?” Yukimura asks, mustard yellow shirt now dangling dangerously from his bare shoulders.

No, that isn’t what he wants. Someone else probably means Niou. Niou can make himself look like Sanada, talk like Sanada, and has even mastered the ‘Sanada slap,’ but he isn’t Sanada.

As Sanada carefully weighs his options, Yukimura places a translucent heart covered shower cap over his cerulean locks to protect them from the paint.

“Aren’t you curious about what being a _real artist_ is like?” He draws out the words ‘real artist,’ flicking off his shirt and handing it directly to Sanada.

 _Me? An artist?_ Sanada ponders, folding Yukimura’s shirt into a square like his Grandfather taught him and setting it to the side.  

“I’ll do it.”

“Great! Be sure to spread paint everywhere so it shows up well when you flip me over onto the parchment,” Yukimura explains, shirking off his black pants and handing them to Sanada. Sanada automatically folds the pants into a neat square and sets them on top of the mustard yellow shirt.

 _Everywhere. Everywhere means_ …Sanada’s eyes subconsciously drift to Yukimura’s lower regions

“Get your mind out of the gutter. This is an art project. An **art** project,” Yukimura emphasizes as he removes his Rikkai Alum briefs, and hands them to Sanada.

 _Right._ Sanada sighs, folding Yukimura’s underwear. _Artists seem to have some kind of fascination with naked people._

“Since you’re the artist, you have the freedom to choose any colors you want. But, you’re also responsible for cleaning anything that gets paint on it, so be careful not to spill,” Yukimura explains, handing Sanada a paintbrush with bristles the size of his fist.

“Also, please no mixing colors together. Let’s leave that to the professionals,” Yukimura adds, abruptly standing up to where his everything is in Sanada’s face.

No problem. It’s just for art.

“You will be painting me in this position,” Yukimura says doing a valiant gladiator pose, “while I’m holding this tennis racket,” he continues, pulling a gray and black tennis racket out from behind him and holding it up like a sword.

Minus the dorky shower cap, Yukimura looks stunning, like he should be modeling for PlayTennis XXX.

 _The tennis racket really makes the pose,_ Sanada thinks before it sinks in why that particular tennis racket looks so remarkable.

“That’s my tennis racket!” Sanada objects, lunging for the racket.

“Don’t worry, the paint is all non-toxic and washable,” Yukimura smiles, his tone is sweet but he’s giving Sanada the eyes that say ‘don’t mess with me or I’m giving you the yips’

“Use your own then,” Sanada grumbles quietly, backing off. Yukimura gets pretty into his art sometimes.

 

* * *

 

Sanada won’t admit it but he’s stoked about being an artist for the day. Grandfather never let him paint with anything other than black calligraphy ink, saying colors would make him soft.

Sanada wants to go wild.

He’s going to paint with **all** the colors of the rainbow.

“Don’t peek,” Sanada commands as he sweeps his paintbrush lightly over Yukimura’s eyes. It would be bad if paint dripped in them.

Ever quick and efficient, Sanada paints Yukimura’s entire face blue, neck yellow, arms orange, sides lime green, chest and torso baby blue, left leg forest green, right leg red, and feet pink. He follows the instructions to a T, and is meticulous in making sure lines are uniform and the colors do not blend together at all.

At this point two colors remain: purple and aqua blue, and there is only one place still flesh colored on Yukimura’s body. He wonders if Yukimura really means for him to paint _there_. But, Yukimura did say everywhere, and it will look bizarre if he flips him over on the paper and there’s just a giant blank space.

He can’t have people thinking Yukimura doesn’t have anything! 

Sanada bends down, positioning himself squarely in the middle of Yukimura’s red and green thighs. He looks up, Yukimura’s penis stares back.

 _It’s as Seiichi said, this is just an art project. Nothing else._ Sanada breathes deeply, dipping his brush into the purple, _this is just another mental exercise Genichirou_

Sanada gently strokes Yukimura’s dick a couple times with his purple-coated paintbrush. Not even one centimeter of Yukimura’s body moves, and Sanada internally beams with pride at his boyfriend’s discipline. He then looks down at the tent forming in his pants and mentally slaps himself for his own lack thereof.

_It’s art project Genichirou. Hold yourself together!_

Last but not least, the racket. Sanada is reluctant to paint his own racket, but nonetheless dips his brush into the aqua-blue. He only paints around the rim and the handle; it will be a bother if the strings get messed up. He stifles a tear, and hopes Yukimura is right about the paint being washable and non-toxic.

“Genichirou, are you almost done? The paint on my face is starting to dry,” Rainbow-mura inquires.

“Almost.”

Something is still missing.

Suddenly it clicks, and Sanada runs off to their bedroom, pulling out his calligraphy set from the cabinet.

He takes out one of his thicker calligraphy brushes, dips it in coal black ink, and vertically inscribes one of his favorite sayings upon Yukimura’s now baby blue chest:

 

有

志

者

事

竟

成

[Where there’s a will there’s a way]

 

“Finished!” Sanada smiles smugly. Not bad for his first time painting with color!

“Now lift me up carefully and press me into the paper. Do not smear the paint!” Yukimura instructs, still like a rainbow statue. Even his lips seem not to move.

Sanada does just that, firmly holding Yukimura’s waist, lifting him up, and stamping him face down on the sheet of white parchment. Yukimura stays unmoving, gladiator pose remaining perfectly intact.

 _Art is easy_ , Sanada muses as he slides himself onto Yukimura’s naked back and gently massages the entire length of his well-muscled figure.

It’s to maximize paint transferability. Nothing else!

Sanada then raises Yukimura straight up and on to the kitchen tile, gazing in admiration at his fine work.

The piece is _unique_.

Since Yukimura is wearing a shower cap the person in the print looks, well…err… **bald**. Despite the uncanny resemblance to a former teammate of theirs, Sanada still finds it to be one of the most incredible pieces of art known to mankind. The print is not blurred or smudged in the slightest and every fine detail of Yukimura’s magnificence comes out crystal clear. Red, orange, yellow, green, pink; all the colors of the rainbow glow brightly as he poses gallantly with the aqua outline of a tennis racket. Sanada begins to think he might have hidden artistic talents.

But most importantly, Sanada’s calligraphy comes out flawless.

Sanada looks to Yukimura, resident art major, for a nod of approval.

“It’s gorgeous,” Yukimura breathes in awe, hugging his knees close and blending all of Sanada’s fine lines together. Yukimura looks so pleased Sanada’s afraid he might turn and hug him too. “Don’t forget you’re still covered in paint,” Sanada reminds.

Yukimura glances down at his multihued body and then up at Sanada, “I suppose I should wash this off, hmm?”

“Obviously.”

“Well, I’ll just be in the nice warm shower washing _all_ this paint off of _every_ inch of my _entire_ body,” Yukimura says, standing up and heading towards their bathroom.

Yukimura seems to emphasize the words all, every, and entire, which is stupid because Sanada clearly knows this. He painted him.

Sanada sits unmoving, still admiring his lovely art piece. He wishes that Yukimura didn’t have to turn it in to school. The painting could hang in their room as a memory of Sanada’s first time doing it.

“It” being art that is. 

“Don’t you have some cleaning to do too?” Yukimura asks innocently, turning his blue face around so he can look Sanada directly in the eyes.

Sanada looks down at his hands, they are fairly spotless as he has been careful. But, his racket…

Sanada reaches over to grab his now aqua blue racket

“Put that down,” Yukimura frowns, removing the racket from Sanada’s grasp and lacing his very orange fingers with Sanada’s clean ones. “I thought I said clean up was part of being an artist.”

As Yukimura leans in to give Sanada a paint tasting kiss, Sanada’s hair brushes up against Yukimura’s forehead turning the tips a vibrant blue. This action sparks a wave of panic in Sanada, followed quickly by a wash of relief.

 _Phew._ He left his hat on the kitchen island and out of harms way!

As Yukimura begins guiding him towards their shower, Sanada’s relief is suddenly eclipsed by his newfound admiration for art.

_Art is wonderful._

 

* * *

**Epilogue**

Yukimura titles his painting: The God of Tennis

He attaches this description:

 _The God of Tennis, racket in hand, looks on bravely. Courage, strength, and determination flow out of him like a rainbow after heavy spring rain as he strives to reach his pot of gold._ _Torso reads: [Where there’s a will there’s a way]_

Maybe if you aren’t a _real artist_ , you might think Yukimura completely bullshitted his way though that class assignment.

Good thing his teacher isn’t a faker. She gives Yukimura an A++ for creativity and design.

It hangs in the hall for the rest of the semester as a type of motivational poster for students, and everyone tries to guess who the mystery man in the painting could be.

“No, no it’s not Jackal. Nope not Niou either,” Yukimura says for the thousandth time, smirking.

They’ll never get it.

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I only chose the Chinese phrase because I wanted to capture the visual effect of Sanada's calligraphy being written vertically. No special meaning .-.
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


End file.
